


Ninety-Four Percent

by sprinkles888



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Depression, Experimental Style, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Past Ruby/Sam Winchester, Psychology, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester-centric, Season/Series 04, Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkles888/pseuds/sprinkles888
Summary: Sam got a 94% on his Psych 1010 midterm in college. He was pretty proud, considering everyone called that class Hell-On-Earth for a reason.(Too bad no one told him those questions he missed were the important ones.)





	Ninety-Four Percent

**Author's Note:**

> ** Sam Winchester Bingo Square: Demon Blood!Sam **
> 
> hahaha i tag experimental style as if anything i write _isn't_ experimental
> 
> anyway everything is implied, and nothing is. wow. writing. 
> 
> can u believe i actually did research for this. i dug out my old flashcards. i read articles. haha imagine if i actually learned something. that'd be hilarious.

In the sharpest moments, when his blood is pumping steadily and he can feel the pressure behind his eyes, when he finally feels like he fits somewhere, like maybe he has control over _something,_ he remembers his first semester at Stanford and the hardest class he ever took.

And maybe that’s strange, that demon blood down his gullet brings that dingy, cramped auditorium to mind, but he’s coherent enough to understand why.

The addiction unit was the easiest one. He got a 96% on the quiz, was proud of it enough to brag about it, just a bit, to his fellow struggling classmates. Psych 1010, hell on earth.

(Or that’s what Sam’s study group called it, anyway. He, frankly, thought that seeing your brother bleeding out on the side of a road thanks to a werewolf you had to kill _(murder)_ was a bit harder, but he was an outlier.)

* * *

**Name:** _ Samuel Winchester____

**Section Number:** _ PSY1010-004 _

**Student Number:** ____0018300124___

**Date**: __11/6/2002___

**Psychology 1010 Midterm Exam**

**Units 1-4**

**Multiple Choice**

**(More than one answer may be correct, please select all that apply.)**

**X Question 3.**

**Signs of addiction include:**

**a)Obsessive thoughts and actions**

Ruby shoves him. He shoves back. She tells him it'll help him focus. He does focus.

On Dean. On Lilith.

He thinks about Dean, Dean in Hell. (For him.)

Ruby whispers awful things about it when he's too worn down to fight her. She tells him about how they break down a human soul.

He thinks about Dean.

Lilith needs to die. He needs to get stronger. He's getting stronger. Dean would hate it, Dean would tell him that it's evil and awful and Sam agrees with the Dean in his head, but that's the problem.

Dean sacrificed himself for Sam, and now he's_ just_ in Sam's head.

(Ruby deleted the pictures of Dean off his phone, told him he spent too much time staring at them instead of trying to track down Lilith.)

It's easier when he thinks about the blood instead. It's like when the Trickster took Dean and he focused on finding him, on taking care of the car, on ignoring Bobby—fake Bobby.

It burned at first, fire through his veins. It hurts sometimes.

But it feels good. It feels different than the drowning, icy guilt that drags him down down down down and makes Ruby yank him by the hair and shout sense into him.

She saves him, feeds life into his mouth and brings him back when the thoughts of Dean Dean Dean get so loud. She replaces it with blood blood blood, and that's easier.

He aims at Lilith, burning power through cursed cells, finds it easier to think about killing her than Dean burning in a way so much worse than Ruby's coaxing.

**b)Sudden weight gain or loss**

"You lost weight," Dean says, as Sam stares at him, scared to blink.

An hour more, and then Dean'll stop for gas and Sam can sneak away long enough to down the bottle thumping against his chest whenever he moves.

Sam shrugs, finally, realizing Dean was waiting for a response. He forgot Dean did that. Does that.

He can make it one hour. Easy. Pie.

"You been eating?" Dean asks, eyes forward and hands moving, caressing the steering wheel.

Sam shrugs, tells himself he should look away from Dean. He doesn't.

"Drinking, mostly," Sam replies. It's not a lie. The blood fills him up better than anything. Tastes better now, almost sweet, he's gotten used to the sulfur smell.

Dean frowns, and Sam stares at his face, the way it pulls at the corners of his eyes.

"Isn't like you've got a lot to lose there, beanpole."

Another shrug. Sam looks away from Dean long enough to glance at the fuel gauge.

**c)Insomnia**

Sam's always had a tense relationship with sleep. It was bad when Dean died, it was worse when Sam started hunting Lilith. Ruby doesn't sleep.

He doesn't always sleep.

And, he thinks angels don't sleep either.

Dean does, sometimes. More than Sam does. He has nightmares about Hell. Sam can't (doesn’t) do anything except slink outside to give Dean privacy and himself the chance to lick life from his dead-man hands.

Burning blood is better than caffeine. Stronger. Sam wanders when he can't sleep. He knows Dean worries.

(He doesn't care.)

**d)Loss of control**

Alistair. Mom. Himself. Dad. Jess. Dean.

They tell him things. Secrets. Things he's always known but can't face. His head hurts. His arms hurt.

His throat burns. He just needs it, just enough to make things make sense, to make it work, to give him some semblance of power in a life full of things out of his reach.

"I should've killed you, way back when I figured it out," his dad tells him, as Sam struggles against restraints and sobs for Dean.

"Please," Sam pleads, and his dad reaches out, wraps a rough-tumble hand around Sam's neck and squeezes.

(He's gone when Sam regains consciousness. For a moment, Sam remembers that he's doing this to himself.)

(He knows he deserves it.)

**e)Rationalizing**

"There's no other way," Ruby argues, anxious, begging. Ruby doesn't beg. Sam listens. Down the hatch. If (maybe) the angels want it, if the only person who's been with him—dragging him up instead of face-first in dirt—wants it, if Sam wants it if only to avenge Dean's forty years, he'll make it happen.

Stubborn, Bobby called him. Winchester genes, demon means.

It feels so good. Pure, raw, but not like the visions of the panic room. He's got something now, a weapon. Something that could actually do some good.

Killing Lilith was the goal. It makes sense. It follows logic. Sam thinks maybe, maybe, the Boy with the Demon Blood can do some good after all. (And if he takes himself out with her? Two-for-one-special.)

He's got a chance. (He doesn't have a brother.)

**X Question 16**

**Karrie gets a parking ticket, and her parents take her car away for a month. This is an example of what reinforcement schedule?**

**a)Positive punishment**

“What would Dean say?” Ruby asks, unimpressed.

Sam shrugs, turns another page. Scans for any mention of Lilith.

“Sam, you need to work with what you’ve got,” she says. She’s been the voice of reason. His voice of reason. “And depriving yourself of sleep isn’t going to help you get stronger.”

“I told you,” Sam says, “I don’t want it anymore. Dean wouldn’t want that.”

“So? Dean’s _dead_, Sam. Other people are dying!”

He shrugs. He feels foggy. Limp. Loose.

“Fine,” Ruby says, gritting teeth, “I’m done lecturing you.”

**b)Negative punishment**

“Freedom,” Dean says, standing, crossed arms, against the wall of the panic room, “that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

“Dean,” Sam sobs, begs.

“Freedom from dad, freedom from hunting, freedom from _me._”

“No, that’s not—” Sam pleads, shaking.

“Well, it’s just too bad,” Dean says, “Because you haven’t _earned _it, Sam. In fact, you screwed up so bad I had to lock you up in here just to feel safe.”

Sam blinks. Dean’s not there. He’s not sure if he ever was.

(He knows it doesn’t matter. Dean would say it all, anyways.)

**c)Positive reinforcement**

“Hey,” Ruby says, “C’mon, you shower up, pretend you’re not hungover, and I’ll get you what you need.”

At that, Sam blearily drags himself out of the bed, fuzzy, sun-glare type memories of the night before dancing in his head. (He’d _said_ “No,” he’s sure of it. Again, and then again, and then Ruby—)

Ruby waits expectantly, arms crossed. Sam stares at her, wonders if a demon can ever feel comfortable in the body they stole. Wonders if that’s why he never feels like the skin sits right atop his bones. Wonders if that’s why he always feels too big and too hulking and too—

“Sam,” Ruby says, no-nonsense, almost close enough to a memory to make Sam think about his brother, but no, he’s not, he’s _not_, “Shower, then fuel. Let’s go, we’ve got that lead to follow up on in Memphis, remember?”

He nods, stumbles, braces himself on the bedside table. It wobbles beneath his weight. He breathes, low and deep, quite nearly a sigh, and makes his way to the bathroom.

**d)Negative reinforcement**

Sam doesn’t want to die as much as normal when he’s downed some blood. Maybe it’s because for once, he’s the one in control. He controls how much he drinks. How he uses his power. He knows exactly what is going into his body, and when.

(It feels like being in control.)

Maybe it’s because he’s got a purpose. When he drinks, he’s preparing to face Lilith. He’s doing _something_ right with the impossible-to-escape evil that _is_ him. He’s dirty and cursed, but he can _do_ something with it. Help people. Save people.

And he doesn’t feel like running into oncoming traffic as much. That’s a bonus.

(A necessity, if Dean’s sacrifice isn’t to be in vain.)

**e)Rules enforcement**

Save people. Hunt things. Kill your brother if he’s evil.

Dad had a lot of rules.

This is how you fold your shirts, this is how you load a gun. This is how you shut out your son from your life just because he dares to hope for something better.

There were always consequences when Sam didn’t listen.

Dad’s belt, spaghetti-os for dinner, not a single phone call even though John was the one to shut the door.

Never seemed fair to Sam.

**X Question 47**

**According to the biological perspective, psychological disorders result from:**

**a)Distorted thinking**

It’s his fault, he reminds himself. It’s late. He’s jittery. There’s people making noise in the room above him, car headlights shining through the cheap motel curtains. He’s slightly drunk. There’s a Jackie Chan movie on channel 2.

Everything would be as it should be, except Dean’s not here. He’s alone. In a cruddy motel. He can’t call anyone, isn’t waiting for the phone to ring once, then stop, then ring again.

He can’t call Bobby, because he remembers. He remembers what happened last time Dean was dead. He remembers the blood gushing. The way the body fell. That horrible, defiling, wrenching moment where the body just slumped there, and he realized _he wasn’t sure_. (And he hadn’t been, for those six months. Never sure of anything, except he _had to be right.)_

There is something he is sure of. It’s his fault. It’s always been his fault.

It’s his fault that Dean is gone, that Dean is suffering, that Dean is being tortured instead of Sam. It should’ve been him. He knows it.

But it’s not, and it’s his fault.

It’s his fault for being a needy, whiny kid that Dean had to take care of because Dad told him to. It’s his fault that Dean feels responsible for him. His fault for not convincing Dean that he _was_ evil, that Dean should’ve listened to dad.

His fault for thinking Jake was down. His fault for not turning quick enough, not training enough, not being ready enough.

His fault for wasting time during Dean’s year sobbing his eyes out in gas station bathrooms when he could’ve been researching. His fault for sleeping too much, staying in bed too much, letting the weight of Dean’s deal hurt him too much.

(He should’ve just tried to back them out of the deal. It would’ve been so much better. Too late. Too little. Too _stupid, shallow, irritating, evil_.)

It’s his fault no demon will deal. His fault that he’s not smart enough or strong enough to break Dean out.

It’s all his fault.

**b)Lack of positive self-regard**

There’s a demon in front of him. He tries to focus. His blood is racing. He’s breathing and it’s easy in a way it hasn’t been in so long.

It hurts—it hurts so badly he thinks he might be making recompense for Dean’s sacrifice—but it works. He gets a grip on the smoke, pulls it out inch by inch. The pain spikes, there’s blood dripping from his chin, his ears feel sticky, wet.

He tells himself he deserves it. It doesn’t really matter if it hurts and leaves him exhausted and aching and unstable.

He’s unclean and a horrible brother and a terrible person.

So it doesn’t matter, as long as he helps _someone_.

**c)Traumatic Childhood Experiences**

(Jess made him see a therapist. It was kind of nice. He couldn’t talk about a lot of things, but it helped him sort out his brain.

It helped him understand just how much his dad screwed him up. How screwed up he’s always been. Apparently it’s not normal to expect to be dead by seventeen.)

**d)Dysfunctional societal views**

It’s wrong to be upset.

It’s bad to want to cry.

Sam’s wrong for feeling this.

That’s what everyone tells him.

**e)Brain abnormalities**

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Dean says.

Sam, with nothing else to live for, no one else who cares that his brain wants him dead, says,

“Neither do I.”

* * *

“How’d that psych test go?” Brady asks in the middle of the food court, “The one you were freaking out about?”

Sam’s still not really used to having anyone care about his tests. He shrugs.

“Got an A,” he says, “missed a couple.”

“Dude!” Brady says, slapping his shoulder, “An A in that class? You’re even more of genius than I thought.”

Sam smiles down at his salad, tosses the newspaper he’d been scanning (not for weirdness, just for . . . reasons) in the trash can, and talks essays with Brady.

He thinks maybe he can do this. Maybe college really _was_ his out.

**Author's Note:**

> so s4 sam is just like so intriguing. if u blame sam for starting the apocalypse like. i respectfully disagree. i'd talk more about it, but then there'd just be a whole other fic down here in the notes. 
> 
> but like. talk to me about it, yknow?
> 
> anyway, i'm bout to yeet myself outta here, so this is the last fic from me for a while (like . . . more than a year a while). i won't be able to respond to any comments right away, but i'll try to when I get back, and I appreciate it like. So Much. enjoy s15 for me if you're watching it! byeeeeee 
> 
> all your kudos/comments/bookmarks are appreciated and you're fantastic 
> 
> [on tumblr @sprinkles888](http://sprinkles888.tumblr.com)  
****  
[SPN sideblog @gen-spn](http://gen-spn.tumblr.com)


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